


Scorgify

by sdk



Series: AdventDrabbles 2017 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Harry/Draco, M/M, Masturbation, Teenagers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12997038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/pseuds/sdk
Summary: Scorpius finds the Potters infuriating, and Albus is the most infuriating of them all.





	Scorgify

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/gifts).



_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose…_

Scorpius stifles the urge to cringe at Mr Potter’s off-key Muggle caroling. His father has no such problems. Though he swats Mr Potter’s hip as they stand in the kitchen (Mr Potter stirring a sauce; his father with a glass of wine in one hand “observing”—which is the only skill he brings to the stovetop) and complains loudly about Mr Potter’s dreadful singing, he, instead, beams. Scorpius is happy for his father, truly, but why did he have to go fall in love with Mr Potter of all wizards? Ensuring that every holiday meal, every weekend family dinner, any family function is spent with the whole Potter clan. 

For the moment, Scorpius shares the sitting room with just one of them: Lily, who’s sat in a big squishy armchair, flipping through _Witch Weekly_ and utterly ignoring him. Which is fine by Scorpius, only he’s so bloody bored, he’s taken to practicing his cleaning charms. He’s been spelling a grass stain into the knee of jeans and seeing just how many Scorgifys it takes to erase it. Embarrassingly, it’s not a spell that comes easy to him, and after a few cycles of this, a faint green’s taken hold, stubbornly staying in place.

_This is ridiculous._

“Where’s your brother?”

Lily looks up from her magazine; the corner of her lips curl upwards. “Which one?”

Scorpius frowns as heat spreads across his cheeks. Lily very well knows which one. 

“James is at Teddy’s,” Lily says when Scorpius doesn’t dignify her question with a response. He waits, but she simply returns to her magazine and flips another page. 

Scorpius grits his teeth. “And Al?”

“Oh Al? You want to know where Al is?” she asks, full of mock innocence. She laughs and gestures lazily towards the stairs. “He’s up in his room.”

Mercifully, she decides to ignore Scorpius again, though (after fidgeting in his chair a few moments more) when he stands, he doesn’t miss her snort. 

Damn Potters, damn the lot of them, Scorpius thinks as he trudges up the stairs. They’re insufferable, each in their own way: James and his sarcastic mouth, Lily and her teasing, and Al…Al was the most insufferable of them all. Everyone calls him the shy Potter, but he isn’t—anyone who has paid the least bit of attention can tell that. Al’s thoughtful… deliberate…and he carries a quiet confidence that Scorpius envies dearly. 

But the worst of it, the absolute infuriating part is that he’s so bloody gorgeous, and effortlessly so. Looks as if he’s never bothered with a comb, but his hair tossed this way and that somehow suits the bastard. And his eyes, the line of his jaw, the hint of a collarbone when he loosens his tie and undoes the top buttons of his shirt…

Scorpius shakes himself. These aren’t the sort of thoughts he should be having now. Especially here, right in front of Al’s bedroom door, right before inviting himself into the snake pit. He takes a deep breath, clears his mind, and knocks. Only before his knuckles make contact, the door creaks open as if it wasn’t properly latched in the first place. Scorpius ducks his head in to announce himself, but the words die on his lips. 

Al lies on the bed, shirtless, naked—or practically so—his pants and jeans are shoved down and strain between his spread ankles. Scorpius doesn’t know where to look—his gaze lands on Al’s bare knee, his line of his hip bone, the tight muscles of his abdomen, the quick rise and fall of his stomach. He sees a flash of a fist between Al’s thighs, and instantly looks down. Heat flares across Scorpius face, his chest—the tips of his ears burn. A yearning brings his gaze back up, but only to those stretched jeans and the glint of Al’s open belt buckle as it flops along with Al’s rhythmic thrusts. 

Scorpius wills his feet to move. Back out of the room. Pull the door closed, carefully…quietly… Retreat back downstairs. Beg off dinner. Make up an illness and Floo to St. Mungos. Oblivate himself and portkey to Tahiti. Anything instead of freezing here, in Al’s doorway, just begging to be caught. 

But Al moans. It’s a low, quiet, delicate sound, but it reverberates through Scorpius. His own cock throbs in response, straining against his trousers as his eyes are drawn upwards again. Al’s squeezing his balls, rolling them in the palm of his hand, and his prick flushes proudly, curved towards his stomach. Slick with whatever Al’s using for lube—it makes Scorpius’ mouth water. It makes him seriously consider pushing inside, crawling up Al’s body and swallowing his cock whole. 

_Fuck._ Scorpius tears himself away. He leans against the wall just outside of Al’s door, panting like he’s the one pulling himself off. Al’s moans come faster, breathy and quick, and before Scorpius can think, before he can stop, before his brain can sound the this-is-a-very-bad-idea-possibly-the-worst-you’ve-ever-had alarm, Scorpius tears open his trousers and shoves a hand down his pants. He nearly moans himself in relief, but bites his lip in time. And with one—two—three tight strokes, he’s coming in a great rush, stickying his pants with white. 

For a moment, everything’s quiet. Then a rustle from the bedroom snaps Scorpius back into focus. 

_Shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshit._

His hand is covered in his own come and he wipes it thoughtlessly over his pants, smearing white over the faint green grass stain. _Shit._ He fumbles for his wand; it slips through his slick fingers and lands with a clatter on the floor. _Shit._ He kneels to grab it, then hikes up his falling pants by his waistband. If there’s ever a moment for his magic to come through, it’s right bloody now. 

“ _Scorgify,_ ” Scorpius mutters under his breath. His wand is dormant, a useless stick. “ _Scorgify,_ ” he whispers furiously. A faint gust of hot air comes from the tip of his wand, warming his leg, but leaving the white smear perfectly preserved. “ _SCORGIFY_!” 

“Need some help?” 

Scorpius lets out a rather undignified yelp. Al stands before him, fully dressed, and fairly unwrinkled considering the fact his jeans were shoved down around his ankles moments before. His eyes drift lower and Scorpius grabs the front of his waistband and holds his fly together in a fist. His face burns like he’s caught in a wave of Fiendfyre. He considers asking Al to magic a hole for him to crawl into and hide for the rest of time—certainly his own wand isn’t up to the task! 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Scorpius blurts out. He searches his mind frantically for any reason, any excuse, why he’s stood outside Al’s bedroom with his trousers undone that he nearly misses Al’s next words. 

“That’s disappointing.” Al withdraws his wand and a moment later the white smear disappears. The green stain too. Scorpius’ bits suddenly feel refreshingly unsticky. He blushes hard; he can’t meet Al’s eyes. 

“Thanks,” Scorpius mumbles and then, “—what?” 

“Disappointing. You were…randomly having it off in my hallway? Might want to do up your trousers before dinner, by the way.” 

“Right, yes, right.” Scorpius takes care of his fly, studiously staring at the worn floorboards. But he feels Albus lean in and his breath catches in his throat. 

“I was rather hoping you’d watch.” 

Scorpius looks up in time to see Al straighten and the mischievous sparkle in his eye. “Maybe after dinner? You could come in the room next time.” 

Al turns and heads down the hall. Scorpius can only watch, speechless, a mess of emotions twisting through him. His stomach feels like it’s taken a holiday somewhere down under; his feet tingle like they’re waking up from a long sleep. 

But finally, just before Al descends the stairs, Scorpius shouts,“Yes! I mean—yeah. That would be… all right.”

Al looks over his shoulder and smiles.


End file.
